He bites back a grimace, and for a moment, I think it’s at the idea of being friends with me, but I change my mind when he speaks again.
“That’s not necessary. I’m here to turn this place around, not to make friends.”
“You can do both,” I suggest, with a small laugh. “The two are not mutually exclusive, you know. We’re going to be spending a lot of time together; might as well be friends.”
“I’m good,” he says, skepticism written across his face. “Thank you for the offer, though.”
I stare at him for a long moment before speaking. “You’re good?”
“Yeah. I’m good. I don’t really do friends.”
“You don’t…you don’t do friends.” He stares at me instead of answering. “Do youhave friends?”
His jaw tightens.
“Not that it matters, but I have contacts, and I have acquaintances. Calling people friends is sugar coating the fact that in my life, relationships are networking opportunities.”
My jaw goes slack.
“Did you just say relationships are just networking opportunities?”
He lets out a deep sigh, one laced with irritation.
“What else would they be?”
“People to spend your time with? People to have fun with? People to celebrate accomplishments with?” Something hits me, and my eyes widen. “Have you ever been in love?” His brow furrows deeper, a wordless answer. “Oh, buddy, we're going to make you live. You know, it's actually so lucky that you found me.”
“I feel like we have different definitions of luck,” he grumbles, but I barely notice the dig.
Instead, ideas move through my mind, tumbling over and over before I make my decision and speak it aloud. “I’m gonna win you over.”
“You’re what?” he asks, lifting one thick eyebrow.
“We’re going to be friends, Graham. By the end of the summer, I’m going to be your first real friend.”
“Good luck with that,” he says with a snort.
I tip my head, giving him a genuine, wide smile. “Haven’t you heard? I’m the luckiest girl in the world.”
And then I get another one of those rare, increasingly coveted by me micro-smiles, and my chest lightens. I walk off with an extra pep in my step before I eat on the deck. I pull out a sketchbook and doodle as I eat. I spend my break zoning out and drawing the tiniest corner of a mouth, over and over.
It isn’t until I’m almost done with my lunch that I realize it’s the corners of Graham’s mouth I’m drawing.
EIGHT
It’s been years since I felt a spark of satisfaction in my day-to-day life. I’ve been busting my ass for years now, climbing the corporate ladder, always pining for a promotion that will be bigger and better and more impressive, something that would make me feel like I’d made it finally, only to find each accomplishment falling flat and feeling empty.
But when June threatened to become friends with me, the dim world I didn’t realize I’d been shuffling through numbly shone just a bit brighter.
NINE
At the end of the day, I send off one last email with a satisfied sigh. I’ve only been here two days, but oddly, I’m enjoying myself. It’s not groundbreaking work. If I did it every day forever, I might go crazy, but I like the variety—it’s a fun job.
And I have to admit, even to myself, that every time I think about returning to teaching next fall, dread curls in my stomach. With that in mind, I push the feeling aside, gather my things, sling my bag over my shoulder, and walk to Graham’s office to knock on the frame.
“I’m heading out for the night.”
He looks at me and sighs, a sound deep with exhaustion.
